Glitter
by trufflemores
Summary: 5x17, "Opening Night" reaction fic. Kurt and Blaine at the gay bar several weeks prior to the Opening Night scene. Slow-simmer and nothing explicit, but references to explicit material. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"I can't believe you're wearing body glitter right now," Kurt said, voice husky and face heavily shadowed in the dim lighting of the bar, every sharp angle still jutting out in perfect relief. It was taking every ounce of Blaine's will power not to kiss him until they were both drunk on it, rutting together until the warm simmer in his stomach was fiercer and lower and more focalized. It was nice, just spending time with Kurt, wrapped in his amazingly well-defined arms and occasionally bopping along to the music if Kurt felt like it. His half-empty tequila glass sat on a short round table beside them, and questionable use of body glitter aside, he felt both debonair and debauched and somehow so much _Kurt's _that the rest didn't matter at all.

Tilting his head to press a pointed kiss to Kurt's cheek, he asked, "Are you actually upset about it?" He wouldn't have minded taking a break to cool off, to see if he could get some of the silver glitter out of his sweat-loosened curls, but there was something equally enticing about _not _moving, knowing how crazy he was driving Kurt. It was fun, being so flirty and open with him in a place where anyone could see them. Part of him wanted to rock his hips, to make Kurt _groan, _because it was such a guttural, primal thing and it made Blaine _want._ Leaning on the edge of that precipice, buzzing with alcohol and throbbing with the heat of the club and the _music, _he shifted on Kurt's lap until he was more comfortable, grateful that no one else seemed inclined to join them on the couch any time soon.

Blaine wasn't sure that he would have minded, exactly, except that the warm, curved press of biceps against his skin was perfect and he didn't want to share that with strangers. Acceptance meant that there were no strangers here; everyone was friendly and the drinks were plentiful, a system that Blaine had found was not mutually exclusive. Blaine had limited himself to only a couple drinks because he knew that they had to make it back to their apartments in one piece _without _drunk-dialing their friends for assistance, but even without alcohol to ease away any lingering uncertainty about being so close and uninhibited in public, he felt freer than he had in weeks.

Alcohol couldn't solve all their problems, and neither could gay bars (no matter how _awesome _they were, and Blaine had had no idea just how much fun it could be to spend a night out with Kurt with none of their friends to drag him away from him, just Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt), but there was something about the closeness that soothed Blaine's sore, tense muscles and made the stress of the past few weeks evaporate. As long as he had Kurt, everything else would fall into place, because there was _nothing _that could make Kurt less amazing to him.

And Kurt was _so _amazing. Talented and funny and witty and caring and so much more patient than Blaine could ever hope to be. Dedicated and smart and compassionate and sharp, always well-dressed and ready to face the world. He could do anything. It was incomprehensible to Blaine that there were physical limitations on Kurt's greatness, because it seemed that Kurt should be able to fly.

"You are so drunk," Kurt said with an amused half-snort, almost a giggle as he pressed his lips to Blaine's and oh, that was even nicer than telling him how pretty his eyelashes were because, seriously, Kurt had _amazing _eyelashes and maybe Blaine was a little drunk but so _what?_

Life was amazing. New York was big and beautiful and more exciting than he'd dared to dream it would be, Kurt behind and around and underneath him was comfortable and warm and _hard, _God, he'd been hard for an hour already, or half-hard, or somewhere in between, wearing his favorite tight black pants that made it absolutely impossible for Blaine to know for certain but it was taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to just peel them off and _devour _him.

Kurt loved it when Blaine just _hungered _forhim. Blaine didn't know if it stemmed from the part of Kurt that _still _didn't know just how outrageously sexy he was (and somehow getting even more appealing by the day, which was really distressing because Blaine still hadn't processed the exquisite and particular appeal of his jaw line, let alone his shoulders and waist and hips and thighs) or if he merely liked the extra attention.

"What are yo-mmph," Kurt started, relaxing into the kiss as Blaine shimmied around on his lap so that he was facing Kurt and Blaine couldn't help but tangle his fingers in Kurt's hair and it was so soft, so lush and vaguely hot to the touch, damp with sweat like the rest of him. They'd only been there for – an hour, two hours, it didn't matter – but the slow simmer felt almost unbearable as he pressed and pressed and pressed and Kurt opened up underneath him.

Just when he felt like he'd finally found a good angle to really get into the movements and finally use the friction to his advantage instead of its present slow, unforgiving _ache, _Kurt broke away, laughing softly against his cheek as Blaine whined – _whined, _God, he was needier than he ever, ever wanted to justify but Kurt never judged, just slid his fingers into Blaine's curls and tugged a little – and murmured pointedly, "We can't have sex here."

Undaunted, Blaine pressed kisses along his jawline, nodding and murmuring a noncommittal, "No, no, I know," that was lost under the deeper bass of the music. "I just – _Kurt._" It came out as a whimper, then, as he nuzzled into the curve of Kurt's neck before pressing his forehead against it. "You're killing me," he groaned.

"Oh, poor Blainey," Kurt crooned, threading his fingers in Blaine's hair while his free hand rubbed along his shoulders, hunched to the rest of the crowd and almost petulant in their retreat. Blaine groaned against Kurt's neck, tilting his head so he could kiss it, slow and sweet at first before increasing the pace as he reached the sensitive skin just underneath his left ear. "_Blaine,_" Kurt gasped warningly, fingers tightening in Blaine's shirt and Blaine hated public spaces, _hated _public spaces but he still made himself detach and this time he sat back enough to pout at Kurt because they had such a good thing going and couldn't they bend the rules just _once_?

And sure, it might be sort of uncomfortable and awkward getting home, but it would be worth it. It had to be. Kurt was so _hot _and Blaine was so ready, _so _ready, and everything was just making him even more on edge.

"Later," Kurt whispered, and it made Blaine shiver because it was a promise that he knew Kurt would keep, head bobbing along frantically as he struggled to disentangle himself from Kurt because the forty-minute ride home was long enough and he needed to be there _now._

"Hey," Kurt said, dragging him back just when he'd managed to escape enough that he could almost climb out of Kurt's lap, and suddenly he was pressed against Kurt's chest and it was the nicest place in the world to be. "We don't have to leave just yet. Relax." He tucked his cheek against the top of Blaine's head and Blaine shivered at the thought of the silver glitter in his hair dusting the smooth angles of Kurt's jawline.

Even hard and wanting and impatient at being forced to wait, Blaine couldn't ignore how nice it was to be held, to just listen to the music and Kurt's breathing, soft and still the loudest sound as close as it was to his ear. He tangled his own hands in Kurt's shirt, the light gray one that short-circuited Blaine's brain on a _good _day, and rubbed circles against the skin underneath without ever touching it.

Somehow absentminded touching became a full blown massage as they shifted and shimmied and found a more comfortable position for Kurt to stretch his legs and Blaine to sit behind him, the low thrum of the music distant noise to them as Blaine's hands kneaded at Kurt's shoulders. Kurt relaxed underneath his fingertips as Blaine pressed them expertly along his skin, grateful that Kurt had at least tugged the shirt over his head to allow him easier access to all that perfect, untouched skin. He arched back against Blaine when he found a knot just beneath his left shoulder blade and then went limp with relief when Blaine's hands soothed the ache away. "You really do have magical hands," he breathed, head rolling on his neck before he flashed Blaine a satisfied smile over his shoulder.

Looking at the raw honesty in his gaze was too much. Blaine was going to lose his mind, he was going to lose his _mind _and only by pressing his forehead – still speckled with red and purple flecks of glitter like the rest of him – against Kurt's shoulder was he able to draw in a ragged breath because Kurt was just so incredible and being able to touch him and love him and know him was a privilege that Blaine would never be able to earn and could only learn to accept.

Collecting himself, Blaine lost himself in the rhythm of gliding his palms over Kurt's back, not really knowing when the songs shifted to something slower again until they laid down on the tiny couch together, Kurt's head in Blaine's lap and _God _that wasn't helping things, except everything was warm and perfect and _Kurt._ It didn't hurt that Kurt was so lax that he even let Blaine play with his hair, gently carding his fingers through it before rubbing gently at his temples.

"Mm, if you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep," Kurt warned, sleepy and content, eyes closed as Blaine leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, surprised at how calm his own voice sounded, the buzzing under his skin a less acute thing, an omnipresent but less potent thing with Kurt warm and lazy and glitter-speckled underneath him, smile wry and a little debauched itself as he flicked a hand in regal acceptance, pushing himself to an upright position and shrugging back into his shirt.

Separation wasn't an option, even though the club was still crowded and the music had heated up again to make a more frenzied atmosphere sometime between limbo and reality for Blaine. They still shuffled their way through the crowds easily, only bumping into two tables (and if Blaine didn't have _bruises _on his hipsin the morning he'd be stunned, ow; Kurt's crooned promise to kiss them better made the immediate ache cool a little, an instant, all-natural balm) before they made their way into the cool night air.

Stranded on the sidewalk, Blaine felt a little less dizzy and overwhelmed by the club atmosphere outside and more keenly aware of his own state of disarray, covered with _Kurt, _his smell his taste his touch, as New Yorkers passed by, heading in all directions and utterly oblivious to his presence.

"Come on," Kurt urged, sliding his fingers neatly in between Blaine's, and there was a certainty in his grip that calmed all of Blaine's trepidation.

The world could stop and stare at Kurt Hummel all it pleased, but Kurt would never falter under its gaze because he was stronger.

Having the full weight of that gaze, heated and intent and so utterly _sure, _made Blaine's heart race as Kurt crowded him against the door to the loft and kissed him breathless. "Isn't Rachel –?" Blaine tried, a fumbling question from the start as Kurt led him towards his bedroom, already shaking his head urgently because _God _no, they would never risk this while she was home.

Not often, anyway. With Kurt tugging determinedly at his hand, however, it didn't seem to matter either way, surrendering himself to the touch and taste and smell of Kurt, the sight of every perfect patch of skin as it was exposed, not caring that there would be a morning after, a hazy breakfast of sleepy, borderline hungover conversation and more talk about how living apart was best.

Because this – being with Kurt, _loving _Kurt – was something that Blaine knew how to do, whether sober or drunk or high off a different kind of love entirely, and maybe gay bars in New York were just what he'd needed to ascertain that promise.

Of course, it didn't hurt that, sprawled out on his bed with nothing but glitter in his hair and a smirk on his face, Kurt was absolutely, one hundred percent irresistible.


End file.
